


Wait, There's No Such Thing As Unicorns?

by boxparade



Series: White Blank Page [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxparade/pseuds/boxparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey bro, my daughter's a boy now, and how about that weather?" is one hell of an icebreaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait, There's No Such Thing As Unicorns?

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Please keep in mind that I am much more versed regarding trans* and GSRM issues than my characterization of Dean is, and that I am trying to write Dean in such a way that realistically reflects how he would deal with these issues, and not how I personally view them.
> 
> Un-beta'd for now, because I'm posting this at 6am and I'm the only person awake right now.

"It's been too long, bro."

"It has," he agrees, even though he'd been hoping to put this off for another few weeks, at least. They've been in California for three weeks, now, but he still doesn't feel settled. The packing is done, and Dean's stopped tripping around corners when he tries to get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. They've eaten all the pies the neighbors brought as gifts, and dumped all the fruitcakes. Dean has a library card. On the outside, they've settled snugly into their new suburban life perfectly.

But they're not settled, not really. Not when Dean still hasn't registered Brandy for school because he can't figure out which box to check on the forms. Not when Dean is still calling her Brandy half the time, and calling him Ben the other half of the time, and fumbling pronouns so much it seems like he can't remember his own daughter's— _damn it._

This is why they're not settled. Because Dean is still freaking out at four in the morning, wondering if his kid's gonna develop some sort of multiple personality thing because Dean can't pick a pronoun and stick to it. Because Dean will find a small pink shirt hidden somewhere among all the other crap they packed and stare at it for twenty minutes trying to decide if he should throw it out, or if Ben still likes pink. Because Dean had briefly thought, in his frustration with pronouns, why he couldn't just call his kid "it" and be done with it, and then he'd hated himself so much for it he'd gone to the bathroom and hovered over the toilet for a moment, just in case he threw up.

Dean doesn't feel settled because he hasn't seen his brother since his wife died, and all he can think about is whether or not he could convince Sam to leave again until Dean figures out what to say to him. "Hey bro, my daughter's a boy now, and how about that weather?" is one hell of an icebreaker.

Of course, he never gets the chance to say anything, because Brandy— _Ben—_ is running up and hugging him, saying "Hi Uncle Sam!", and immediately pulling him away from Dean and toward the stairs. "Come see my room, it's _awesome."_

Dean kind of just stands there and blinks, panicking internally and wondering if he's going to have to kick his own brother out of their new house, or if he's the one that's lost it and his daughter is going to magically be back to normal tomorrow, and they'll be in their house in Indiana and Lisa will be there to tell him what to do.

Jess is laughing quietly into her hand, staring at Dean, and that's what finally pulls him out of his head. "Hi, Jess," he says, sounding defeated, and goes in to hug her.

"Hey, Dean. How's it going? New house okay? Are you liking California?"

Dean snorts as he pulls away, grasping onto the one thing he knows he can talk about like a lifeline. "I guess it's okay, for a touchy-feely, self-help, yoga land."

Jess rolls her eyes at that, but she walks in and Dean shuts the door, shooting a worried glance at the stairs, where he hasn't heard anything since Sam and Bran—Ben disappeared up there.

"It'll be fine, you know," Jess says quietly, patting his arm. But before he can say anything in response, Jess invites herself into the kitchen, talking about what great lighting he gets, and turning the whole thing into a tour of the house. At some point, Sam and Ben join them, Dean rambling about the other houses he'd looked at and why this one was better, listing off all the shit he wants to do when he finds the time, fielding random questions about districting and the neighbors and schools.

They finally make it to the backyard, which is bare and pathetic, and Brandy goes chasing after the neighborhood cat again, reminding Dean why he plans to get a dog as soon as possible.

"It's wonderful, Dean. You're going to be really happy here," Jess says, and Dean shrugs one shoulder. For awhile, after Lisa's death, he'd wondered if he'd ever be happy again.

Then Jess up and leaves, with nothing more than a look at Sam, and Dean stands awkwardly with his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels. "So," he says, drawing out the sound.

"The house looks great."

"Thanks."

"You do too, Dean. I mean that." Sam is staring at him, looking concerned and brotherly and like he wants to start talking about feelings and shit. "It's good to see you moving on."

He jerks his head in some attempt at a nod, pressing his lips together, begging Sam to talk about anything else—

"Brandy's changed a lot since I last saw her."

Anything except that. Dean practically winces, straightens his shoulders and turns toward Sam, starts sharply with "Look, you're my brother and I love you but you don't get to—"

"Whoa," Sam throws up his hands, laughing a little. "Calm down, Dean. I'm just...asking what the deal is."

Dean huffs out a laugh, says gruffly "I've got no clue, dude. Ask her. Him. Damn it." He runs his fingers through his hair and chances a look over at Sam.

The fucker is laughing at him.

Dean punches him in the shoulder and says "Shut up."

Sam pretends it hurts, rubs at the spot and counters "I didn't say anything!"

"You were doing the thing with your face." Dean waves his hand around in the general direction of Sam's face.

"What thing? This is just my face!"

"The thing," he shoots back, "with the," he tries to mimic Sam's face on his own, but does it ridiculously, until Sam is frowning at him.

"My face does not look like that."

"Does too."

"Does not, Dean, what the hell—"

"I FOUND A FROG DAD CAN I KEEP IT PLEASE PLEASE PLEEEEEEASE?" Brandy announces his presence with two hands gripped around a frog, shoved right into Dean's face.

He stumbles back, ignores Sam's cackling, and says "Whoa, hey, frog. Uhhh. I don't know. Do you know what it eats?"

"Bugs, duh," Ben says, like Dean should know this already.

"Right. Well... Where would you keep it?"

Ben pauses for a moment, chewing on his lip while he thinks. "The bathroom?"

"No."

"But—"

"You are not keeping a frog in our brand new bathroom."

"But what if I—"

"You can keep it for a day," Dean says quickly, before this escalates into something crazy and he winds up with mutant frog babies in his bathtub. "In a bucket. _Outside._ "

"A day?" Ben whines, shoving the frog a little closer to Dean and saying "But it's _lonely."_

Dean stares at the frog, slimy and bug-eyed and definitely not any frog he's ever seen before in the midwest, and no, it doesn't look lonely at all. It looks like a frog. A frog that probably can't even understand the word lonely, let alone why some giant thing is squeezing it half to death, and if Dean "accidentally" knocks over the bucket in the middle of the night after Brandy's gone to bed, then no one will be the wiser. Maybe the winds get really strong overnight in California, who knows.

"Just...go find a bucket," Dean says with a sigh, and watches as his kid takes off toward the garage with the thing still clasped in his hands, looking at it like a damn frog is the answer to the universe.

Sam bursts into laughter next to him, pointing at Dean and saying "Your face!" while he laughs.

Maybe things don't have to be that complicated. Hell, maybe a damn frog in a bucket is the answer to everything. Maybe Dean can just tell people "This is my son, he likes frogs" and the "he used to be my daughter" part won't matter anymore. Maybe that's all there is to it.

Dean kicks Sam in the shin and mumbles "Shut up."


End file.
